Shades of Grey
by Mijan
Summary: The prophecy read, Neither can live while the other survives.  At first, it sounded so simple, but in a world of magic, nothing is ever as it seems.


**Author's Notes:** This is an idea I'd been considering for a long time. Last Halloween, I finally wrote it. So, the story isn't new, but I hadn't posted it anywhere except my LiveJournal. With the upcoming book, I wanted a chance to post it where everyone can see it first. I hope you like it.

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**"Shades of Grey"**

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"_Neither can live while the other survives…_"

The room was a perfect circle, more than four metres in diameter. The edges would be lost in shadow, were it not for the perfectly spaced candles that Harry was lighting around the perimeter of the room. On one half of the room, the candles were pure white. Harry lit these first. As he stepped to the first black candle that marked the other half of the room, he almost felt as though he'd stepped through a tangible boundary. It separated hot and cold, light and dark, life and death. Shivering, Harry proceeded to light the remaining candles.

It was All Hallows Eve. Halloween. Samhain. Whatever anyone wanted to call it, Harry Potter knew the undeniable power of that night. In the time before recorded history, when the realm of magic overlaid itself on the mundane world, that night had been selected to be the one when the dead would speak, and the living would pay their respects. On Halloween, magic bubbled to the surface of the earth like a cauldron overflowing. Even the Muggles knew something was unusual about the last night of October. Of course, they'd never know the full story.

Harry was quite sure he didn't know everything there was to know about Halloween either, but he'd recently discovered something new. Or, at least, something new to himself, if not uncommon. He'd learned that at midnight, the veil between the world of the living and the shadows of the dead would lift. The phenomenon viewable at the Ministry of Magic had the potential to occur anywhere that night. Anyone might step through the veil. It was even rumoured that with the right preparation and a strong enough need, even the ghost of Merlin himself could be called forth. However, Harry had someone else he needed to talk to, and he hardly dared to think about it, lest he build up his hopes for nothing.

No matter who would show his face that night, Harry needed to be ready when the veil lifted. He had questions that no living being seemed to be able to answer, so he was going to find answers where he could.

For the entire summer following his sixth year, he'd searched for Horcruxes, only to find dead end after dead end. And slowly, he'd begun to suspect that the Horcruxes weren't the most important part of this puzzle. Something else was missing. Finally, he realized that the clue could be traced back to the prophecy itself.

"_Neither can live while the other survives…_"

Something wasn't right. It felt off, somehow. The phrasing, the choice of words. The facts appeared simple at first, but once he'd stopped to look, it was clear that none of them were actually what they seemed to be. Harry needed the solution to this riddle. He needed the truth.

So, without telling anyone, he had returned to the abandoned shell of a building that used to be Hogwarts. The Board of Governors had closed the school until further notice. Too dangerous, they said. Especially after Dumbledore's death.

_Dumbledore._ Harry grit his teeth against the emotions that threatened to erupt from that memory. If he was lucky, Dumbledore would appear to him from the dead. It was certainly Harry's unspoken hope. Perhaps there would be a message. Something. Anything.

With the last of the perimeter candles lit, Harry stepped back to the centre of the room. He reached into a small pouch and withdrew a handful of sea salt. Moving slowly in a clockwise circle, he made a ring of salt on the ground, as wide as he was tall. In the middle of that ring, there were two red candles, placed approximately two and a half feet apart. They were perfectly positioned on the border between the "light" half of the room, and the "dark" half.

When Harry finished the salt ring, he sat down in the circle, facing the candles from the "light" side of the line. Withdrawing a smaller pouch, he carefully poured the contents into his left hand. Chalk dust. Using the dust, he traced the line between the two candles. With that done, there was nothing left to do but to wait.

Again, Harry's mind returned to the prophecy. Honestly, he couldn't understand why he hadn't seen this before. Certainly, it had sounded so simple at first. It was him or Voldemort. Kill or be killed. In that regard, the prophecy showed a possible future. But that interpretation couldn't explain the past.

Sixteen years ago, Harry had become the Boy Who Lived. But somehow, in some sick, twisted way, Voldemort had survived. Hadn't he? He was walking around somewhere, this very minute, probably plotting yet another way to finish the job he'd attempted sixteen years before. But…

"_Neither can live while the other survives_."

The prophecy could only lead to two logical conclusions. Either Harry had survived, so Voldemort wasn't really alive, or Voldemort had survived, so… well, Harry didn't like to think about that, but strictly, it was a possibility.

Harry had survived the killing curse. That's what everyone had said. It practically defined him. And now, Voldemort was teetering in a place that wasn't quite life, and wasn't quite death. His bid for immortality had ironically left him in a place that fell just short of the very goal he sought.

Harry thought of Voldemort's skeletal face, deathly white skin, and red eyes. No, if one of them was lacking a pulse, it was Voldemort.

But then, the prophecy didn't say, "_The Dark Lord can not live while the other survives_." It said _neither_.

That's what made Harry most nervous. He just didn't know. And more to the point, he had no idea how to proceed. Perhaps Voldemort could only be killed if he was alive, and for that to happen, Harry would have to cross the threshold of death itself. Perhaps he'd bring Voldemort with him. Maybe Voldemort had really been dead all along, and Harry merely needed to discover the key to unravel the strange magic that maintained Voldemort's façade of life. Maybe it was all a metaphor, but Harry didn't think he'd be quite so lucky. Whatever the outcome, Harry had already come to the conclusion that it would be less than pleasant.

Dumbledore had said that there were fates worse than death. To be cursed with a half-life, dead in all ways except for being too afraid to die… yes, that would be worse. If that had been the nature of Voldemort's existence for so many years, then Harry could almost feel pity for him… but not quite. No, Voldemort deserved the fate he'd received. He deserved death. And if Harry had to die in order to bring Voldemort down… he could do it.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord"_ was him. There was nobody else. He'd been chosen, he'd been marked, and even if he had the choice to walk away from this fate, he wouldn't. His choice was to see this through, to the end. He just needed the guidance. He needed to see the truth.

He glanced down at his wristwatch. Two minutes left until midnight. He had never done magic like this before. It was Old magic, very intricate and somewhat dangerous, and again, Harry considered backing out. Nobody would ever have to know he'd been there. He'd be no worse off than he'd been before. But he knew that second-guessing himself was pointless. There were no leads with the Horcruxes. The prophecy had become a twisted riddle that led him to question the very nature of his existence. Voldemort was growing stronger by the day, and nobody had answers. Nobody amongst the living, that was. He had to do it. Now was the time.

Harry withdrew his wand and took a deep breath. The spell had been written in Gaelic, but the instructions had stated clearly that it was far more important to understand the words while speaking them than to incant in the original language. So, focusing as clearly as possible on the words he'd memorized, he steadied his wand and began.

"To see beyond the Veil, where dwell the Dead, where lies Wisdom, where hides Truth. Show Truth in Life, mirror Truth in Death. Mighty Herne, heed this Warrior's plea. Wisdom of the Ages, held by the Dead, come forth for the Living. Voice of Wisdom be heard. Face of Truth be seen. Let the Veil fall away."

The two red candles flared to life. They burned brightly for a moment, very much like normal candles only larger, but suddenly the flames turned electric blue. They sparked, then surged upwards, creating an arch of flames, just a bit taller than Harry. Within the arch, a boundary formed, like a thin mist dividing the Light side of the room from the Dark. Beyond the mist, vague shapes were forming, still too distant to identify. Still, that meant the spell had worked. The veil had lifted.

Harry jumped to his feet and peered through the mist. His chest was clenched so tight he could hardly breathe, that is, if breathing seemed important. He wanted to call out, but he wasn't sure what to say. If he said the wrong thing, he feared he might break the spell, and he'd miss his chance.

Finally, one of the indistinguishable shapes came forward from the background, just slightly. His heart jumped. He couldn't see the face, but somehow, he knew who it was. "Professor Dumbledore?"

A familiar voice echoed around him, not coming specifically from the other side of the mist, but seeming to come from everywhere in the room at once.

"Harry, I had dearly hoped that I would never see you in this manner. Indeed, I am both impressed and saddened."

Harry took a long, shuddering breath. It really was Dumbledore. Part of him wanted to rush through the mist and greet his one-time mentor properly, but that was impossible. "I didn't have much of a choice, sir. You didn't leave many clues, and... we don't know what to do. I don't know what to do." He took one more steadying breath before continuing. "I think there's something we missed... something important. About the prophecy. I think you can help me."

Dumbledore gave a deep sigh. "I had told you everything that I thought I could while I was with the Living, but I must admit that I did not tell you everything. Especially concerning the prophecy. And with greater shame, I admit that I did this intentionally."

In a flash, trepidation disappeared as anger surged, and Harry felt his fists clench of their own accord. He'd known that Dumbledore never got a chance to explain how his hand had become deadened, nor did he leave any clue about how to actually destroy a Horcrux. He hadn't even really suggested where to begin in the search. Harry had assumed that Dumbledore's untimely death had simply interrupted a stream of information that was supposed to continue. But now that he knew this…

"You kept things from me _intentionally_? I'm supposed to face the most powerful Dark wizard of the age, and you kept things from me _intentionally_? _WHY_?"

Dumbledore's face was still indistinguishable, but the aura around the shape took on an impression that was unquestionably sad. "You could have gone on to defeat Voldemort without knowing this, and I feared that knowing such horrible things would cause you more harm than good. But, alas, you now suspect it, and that will be enough to unravel this delicate net over time."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked flatly, but his voice was shaking.

"You must know that each Horcrux is almost like a seed of life," Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't even heard Harry's question. "A dark, twisted perversion of life, to be sure, but a seed nonetheless, broken from the original, and never again whole. The immortality brought about by the Horcruxes recalls an echo of life. Just as Tom Riddle's diary was able to bring back a form of Voldemort, any of the other Horcruxes could do the same. Each Horcrux could create an impression of Voldemort, more real than a mirage, but not truly a whole person. The Horcruxes, being neither fully life nor death, can only be destroyed by passing to the other side of the veil. To do that, something must die along with them to open the gateway."

"Something?" Harry asked, very confused. "You mean like your hand?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Then... what has to die for the others? Do I have to die?"

"No, Harry. You won't die to destroy the Horcruxes."

Harry felt a wave of relief wash through him, but he quickly refocused on the question at hand. "What about Voldemort himself? How do we kill him?"

"The person that is Voldemort, loathe as he would be to admit it, is mortal. Poweful, dangerous, but mortal. Voldemort's physical body, as you see him, can be killed like any other mortal."

"So I could kill Voldemort now, and he'd be dead? No half-living Voldemort-corpse running around until the Horcruxes are destroyed?"

The shape of Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry suspected that he was smiling. "Yes, Harry. The form that Voldemort inhabits right now, the corporeal 'man' you faced at the end of your fourth year at Hogwarts, and again in the Ministry of Magic at the end of your fifth year… that form can be killed and destroyed like any other being."

"Then… he can be killed," Harry said slowly, "which means… he's alive. Right?"

Dumbledore said nothing.

Harry waited a few moments before calling out again. "Voldemort is alive, isn't he?"

"Yes, Harry. Not in the normal sense of the word, but yes. Voldemort is alive."

Harry suddenly found that his mouth had gone dry. This was the question he was dreading, but now he had to ask it. "Then… what about me?"

Dumbledore's head bowed forward. He said nothing, but waved his hand in a short sweeping gesture. Harry opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but any words he had died unspoken on his tongue when he saw another shape coming forward. This shape was smaller than Dumbledore, nearly his own height. As the shape approached the mist-like boundary, the features became clear, and Harry felt his own heart freeze in his chest.

It was himself. No different than the young man he'd seen in the mirror that very morning, except with the pallor of death clinging to him like a second skin.

The world seemed to tilt slightly beneath him, and Harry struggled to stay on his feet. "This is a joke, right? This has to be a joke."

His mirror image shook his head. "I wish it was."

Dumbledore's voice called from behind. "The spell you cast tonight calls forth the Truth. You have been here, Harry, behind the veil for sixteen years. When you were an infant, you were a mere shadow behind the veil. At the end of your fourth year, however, your presence here solidified. But all this time, you have also been there, amongst the Living. As such, you possess a power that no mortal could possibly have. You can cross over with the Horcruxes. You can destroy Voldemort – completely."

"I don't want power!" Harry yelled. "I want… I want…"

"To be whole," his ghost finished for him.

Harry nodded.

"You will be," his ghost said firmly. "_We_ will be. When you defeat him."

Harry shook his head. "Not good enough. Not fucking good enough! Dumbledore! You said that there were fates worse than death. You've sentenced me to _this_!"

"This is not of my doing, Harry."

"But I… I'm… dead!"

"Yes, Harry."

For a long moment, Harry stared at his own ghost, standing on the other side of the mist. The other side of the veil. Slowly, he reached out a hand and held it flat against the surface of the mist. It was icy cold, and chilled him in a way that he'd never experienced, even on the coldest winter days, but he didn't shiver.

On the other side of the misty boundary, his ghost raised a hand to the veil to mirror his own. Harry wasn't sure if their hands touched, but in a flash, a chill like frozen fire surged through him. Unable to move, Harry stood like a statue, touching death. His own death.

And then, the vision faltered. The arch of blue fire began to fade. Harry's eyes went wide as he pulled his hand back. "WAIT!"

His ghost answered him. "I can't. But I'll see you face Voldemort, and then we can be whole again."

"And just when the hell will that be, huh? Hey!" Harry looked around frantically, but he knew that the window of time was almost over, and the veil had begun to descend again. The bridge between the Living and the Dead would linger vaguely for some time, but not strongly enough to maintain the spell. By sunrise, the magic would be completely gone. It would be another year until Harry could contact Dumbledore... and the other half of himself... unless something happened first. He stared at the mist as it dissolved, and was considering simply jumping through, but as it did, he swore that he saw something red flash from the other side.

Harry blinked. No, it wasn't on the other side of the veil. It was on the other side of the room.

The spell broke, and the candles went out, and Harry saw that his eyes hadn't deceived him. Standing in the doorway was Voldemort.

"Harry Potter. What a… pleasant surprise. On the anniversary of a very special date, no less."

Harry said nothing, but gripped his wand a bit tighter.

Voldemort tipped his head back ever so slightly. "You are a fool to come here, especially on such a night, but then, you have always been foolish. It was only a matter of time before I found you."

Harry raised his wand, levelling it at Voldemort's heart.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, glittering like dried blood. His own hand went to his wand.

Harry was never sure who fired the first curse, but it didn't matter. He was fighting for his life, and now, he knew he had nothing to lose.

_FIN_


End file.
